


Harvest Home

by awintersrose



Category: Naruto
Genre: Allusions to blood rituals and sacrifice, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But also pumpkin farming and sweetness, Divination, Established Relationship, F/M, Multi, Naruto Rare Pair Support Autumn Spook Fest 2019, Southern Gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 23:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awintersrose/pseuds/awintersrose
Summary: As the earth yields its fruit and the autumn harvest begins, second sight offers Orochimaru a view into the blessings of the season - and the dangers lurking in the shadows.





	Harvest Home

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an unpublished AU by @thatshipcat.
> 
> For the NRPS Autumn Spook Fest prompt - "Black Magic Woman"
> 
> Special thanks and hugs to shipcat <3

Visions were tenuous things. When he was younger it was always hard to tell whether they were imagined; fanciful products of an overactive imagination or flights of fantasy, and there was always cause to wonder. Only sometimes those images preceded real things that happened, and then Orochimaru learned that this was no coincidence. 

The sight was something that ran in their family, or so he learned after he came to his mother as a child, frightened by the death of a pet he’d had thoughts about in the days prior. His aunt and grandmother originally dismissed the possibility that he held the gift, as they thought it exclusive to the female line, but as with many other conventions, Orochimaru’s existence had a tendency to break the established order of things. His affinity with serpents and growing things was taken much more seriously once he was initiated into the clandestine practices the women of his family shared. Yet while certain talents flourished as a result, the visions were still so often a puzzle. 

Nevertheless, he was always encouraged, especially by his grandmother. Many an afternoon was spent in her kitchen learning the contents of her herbal, and coming up with new elixirs or remedies, surrounded by warmth and healing energy. She loved to laugh, swishing around the space in her skirts, barefoot and humming along to the music that was almost always playing in her house. Her glittering eyes, the same golden hue as his own, took in his creations with great joy, especially when he showed her how to milk his more dangerous snakes for venom. 

“Snakes have been long related to prophecy, and those blessed by the Goddess, well… it would be foolish not to heed her call, wouldn’t it?” she would ask, every time he fell stymied by his own gifts.

Now, whether that was indeed true or not, his premonitions have still always needed some form of assistance in their interpretations. Often a tool of some kind was said to help. His mother used to scry in an old broken hand mirror, and his aunt, tea leaves. These days, he knows that when the images come unbidden, it is time to bring out the carved wooden box of tarot cards.

The hellish indian summer has finally given way to the cool kiss of autumn blessing the air, and drawn as he is to the waning daylight, Orochimaru unfolds a velvet cloth upon the table outside, and he shuffles his cards before laying out a favorite spread. Sometimes the spread follows no rhyme or reason, only instinct, and the cards fall in familiar patterns that make themselves known as they connect the images that coalesce in his mind. From the very first card, he realizes today might be one such day.

_ The Fool _. A free spirit without a care in the world. He can practically hear the vibrations of the rig tearing down the unpaved road and onto their property, heralding the arrival of a certain midnight caller. That damned trucker with hair like a lucky white rabbit’s pelt, and a laugh that Orochimaru can feel rumbling down deep in his bones, as the rake tells his tall tales and warms their bed another ten degrees.

Damn his wandering soul. He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t miss the fool. Not a bit.

The golden cast of twilight lights up the sky with its ephemeral play of pastel colors, and a soft breeze jangles the wind chimes hanging nearby. Orochimaru can feel her before he can see her, smelling of fresh earth and greenery, sweat and the glory that is woman. 

Best friend, lover, wife... there are many names for what Tsunade is to him, but without her this bright patch of land would be empty and cold. He’s not sure what has made him so sentimental as she makes her way towards the veranda, sun-kissed and smiling. She’s spent the day in the eastern field, tending to the new crop of pumpkins they are planning to take to the farmer’s market over the weekend, along with some of the apothecary items he creates from the gardens.

And surely enough, as she approaches hauling her spoils of the day, the next card he turns over is the Empress, which is not Tsunade’s usual card, but an interesting change given its potential meanings. Watching her, Orochimaru tells himself the nod to fertility and nurturing has more to do with her work than anything else, seeding the ground and watching the fruit of their labors grow - but the alternate possibilities still hold a touch of wonder.

“Well this is a treat... you don’t pull your cards out all that often these days.” Tsunade grins, hoisting a crate of small sugar pumpkins off one shoulder and onto the porch. “Gonna tell my fortune, oh mystic-mine?”

“I would if I thought you’d believe me, princess. Hands off, you’ll ruin the flow.” 

She bends to press a kiss to his temple. “Can’t touch the cards, but I can still touch you…”

Sunshine and seed gone to flower, effervescent laughter and joined hands. The images and sounds flash like a slideshow behind his eyes, and he gives a soft huff and a smile. “That you can, indeed.”

Clearing his mind again, he turns over another card, then another. Cups seem to be the dominant suit, followed by Wands and the Wheel of Fortune. He sees the root cellar and his workshop, laden with drying herbs, their barn filled as the fields are harvested with the changing season. A time of plenty, to be cherished - it will end when the wheel turns once more. A warning. They have to prepare, and he ought to get to work, doing what he does best.

Tsunade hums as she sweeps into the house, bringing back a lit oil lamp and placing it on the table to lend them more light. The sun has almost set.

The wind chimes raise their crystalline song as a cooler ripple of air swirls around the veranda, and Orochimaru pauses as a line of ice runs the length of his spine.

Lush fields, rich and green with growth. Unlike the other small bursts of sight, he finds his subconscious self walking the length of a little-worn path, ready for planting. The soil beneath his feet is rich and rust in color. Not the rust of clay, the deeper, macabre rust of old blood. The rasp of malice in the air ripples across his skin like a living thing with the harsh texture of raw burlap.

In his hand sits the Seven of Swords. Upright, as the majority of the cards drawn thus far have been. The image on the card almost taunts him - a young man spiriting swords away. Deceit, concealment, and getting away with… murder. 

Blood makes the crops grow, there is no denying certain truths. Orochimaru is no stranger to arcane rites involving animal sacrifice or even the shedding of his own blood to lend power to a spell, but this is something else entirely. Having seen the very earth soaked in red brings forth thoughts of sacrifices far greater than those he would practice. There is only one thing that stains the earth in that manner, and that is a human life taken by force. To paint an entire field in that ruddy a hue, it would take many.

There is a darkness lying in wait somewhere in the periphery of this sleepy little town where he and his beloved have made a home. He doesn’t know what and he doesn’t know who - only that it is likely that he is not alone in the arts he employs. While he has never been one to meddle, Orochimaru makes a mental note to prepare offerings for the spirits, and to walk the perimeter of their property, reinforcing every ward against harm. 

Let the future come to pass; so long as their hard-won utopia is left untouched, he is content to stand by and watch. After all, nothing ever really happens in their town. 

Perhaps a new wind will blow.

The rest of the reading passes without further incident or new flashes of insight, and Orochimaru knows he has seen and interpreted all that he was meant to. He stacks the cards and enfolds them in the velvet cloth, to be stored securely in their box until he has need of them again. Tsunade, watching him, stands to stretch and he pulls her into his lap, eager to share the pleasure of a kiss.

She is warm, so warm. The lifeblood of this place, and if his visions and the cards are correct, she may be bearing more than that, or will be soon. It’s all the more reason to ensure the protection of what is his.

“You know Gram’s having another potluck dinner tonight - maybe we ought to go. I know she’ll want a few of these babies so she can still have the best pie at the Autumn Festival.” Tsunade muses, bending to pick up one of the small pumpkins and turning it in her hands.

“As long as they keep Nawaki away from the fire and your uncle’s hunting weapons.” Orochimaru says with a smirk, remembering the disastrous hijinks of their last gathering.

“He learned his lesson! And you didn’t get singed in the end.” Tsunade laughs and brushes his hair back. “But don’t worry, baby, this time I’ll protect you.”

He can only smile.

The Senju nursery isn’t far, and they walk hand in hand, with several of the pumpkins and other goods in a knapsack slung over his shoulder. The walk along the darkening road is one they’ve walked a thousand times, and there is nothing to fear. 

Then the rumble of an engine sounds in the distance, as blinding headlights make their way up the long dirt road, and Orochimaru’s heart leaps into his throat. The rig stops right next to them, air brakes engaging with a burst of sound, and Jiraiya opens his door with a jaunty grin, the strains of southern rock playing on the radio.

“I was looking for a couple of beauties that live this way, you wouldn’t happen to be able to point me in their direction, would ya?”

Some visions weren’t so unclear after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a kudos or a comment if you can, I would love to hear from you <3
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [awintersrose.tumblr.com](http://awintersrose.tumblr.com)  
Pillowfort: [www.pillowfort.io/awintersrose](http://www.pillowfort.io/awintersrose)  
Twitter: [www.twitter.com/awintersrosered](https://twitter.com/awintersrosered)


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